


Castle Watchman

by daroos



Category: Chuck (TV)
Genre: Gen, gen - Freeform, how does it all end, introspective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-25
Updated: 2012-08-25
Packaged: 2017-11-12 21:17:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/495743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daroos/pseuds/daroos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Agent Carmichael is the Chuck Norris of Castle</p>
            </blockquote>





	Castle Watchman

The first look a trainee would get of him would be silhouetted and back lit - an angular lanky figure topped with a tousled mop of curly hair. The Castle was softly lit beyond the entrance, day or night, and it would take a minute for eyes to adjust from the glaring blacktops of Burbank. Carmichael was greyer than any of the instructors had mentioned, and taller, looking down on all but the 98th percentile. Words like 'nice' and 'sweet' and ‘goofy’ weren't known at the CIA so it was hard to describe his toothy grin - welcoming, maybe. Softened by ingrained smile lines and crows’ feet - and were those dimples - and a deep tan only years in Southern California could account for. Eyes of agents were never innocent, but he managed to look at peace with himself, which is the most you can hope from someone who has killed and ended lives. He was what each bright-eyed pre-operative hopes to be some day.

Trainees loved Section Leader Carmichael. Once under his tutelage he owned them - mind and soul. If he had ever wanted to overthrow the government he would have a ready army because really? He was that unique. A mentor you can trust will always look out for you, and one you can trust will never compromise his principles for bureaucrats is a rare thing, especially in covert operations. You don't tend to see old spies, let alone old spies who started as _assets_ , but as he said in an orientation speech he was particularly fond of, he was there to make sure each and every one of them became old spies. Everything in the Castle had it's place, and Section Leader was a stickler about it. He had the most uncanny knack for knowing when a trainee was thinking, _stick up his ass obsessive dick_ and would patiently explain for the fourth or fifth time that procedures were there to keep them alive, and old spies remembered that. Most sections trained spies - he trained the whole person.

He never left the Castle when they were out on missions, sleeping in a cell he had modified to a bedroom years before. "You're never alone out there." was his mantra, but he was always alone in there. He saw the world through robotic eyes his operatives carried, barely leaving the safety of his vault - a magnanimous king of a silent kingdom. As careful as anybody can be, eventually a spy’s image gets compromised and the enemies get wise to who you are. The outside world no longer offers the comforting blanket of anonymity to him as it once did, and so he hides from the world he was once a part of. 

Walking into Castle there was a sign at the end of the first hallway. "Please check euphemisms here." It was never, "We need to neutralize the enemy asset," but rather, "Assassinate him if necessary." It was jarring after a year in the academy and the training grounds - a year of wrapping such actions in pretty paper to make the work seem less violent - to hear it put so baldly, but there was never confusion as to meanings, and there was never the shock when it came time to do the deeds. Sometimes, after a particularly hard mission when the trainee was sitting at the kitchen table with a glazed look, he would set out a pair of cheap glasses pf whiskey and tell his old war stories. Sometimes they were funny, laughing them out of the funk, but sometimes they were just commiserating. "I remember when I burned my first asset. It still kinda hurts, you know?" Pain shared was pain lessened, was another mantra in the Castle.

The tech was upgraded over the years - only his technophilia had kept war from breaking out when the kitchen table was replaced with a holodek (tm) display top. The toys had changed over the years but the game stayed the same. The Buy More had changed hands over the years and was now owned by Tech!Now, an international electronics consortium.   
This meant it was out with the dishwashers and in with the micro-phone installation suite, but though the names of the employees had changed, the psych profile was the same. Morgan had taken over when Big Mike had left with the last change in ownership, taking his pension and his marlin with a big grin. He continued the tradition of negligent leadership interspersed with crack downs and shake ups, and as he 'knew', provided a convenient conduit for CIA electronics upgrades and foot-longs. 

Stories still circulated about the last time Carmichael had gone in the field as an agent. Every one was different, but most included a one-on-who-knows-how-many fight between him an a Mossad field operations team, and some computer work involving rerouting a missle's guidance system away from the Pentagon. Charmichael could take down a bear or a professional wrestler as well as a supercomputing mainframe. Carmichael was a myth and a legend - the only reason he didn't walk on water was because he had invented a handheld re-breather that doubled as a harmonica. There wasn't a security system he couldn't break and there wasn't a cell he couldn't break out of. He knew no fear and no regret. Or so the myth and legend said.


End file.
